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Story : The Cottage and the Potters Field
''Back to The day wears on. The Empty Cottage :April 19 1220 Marcus and Diarmait made their way down toward the empty cottage, noting as they went the damage and disorder the bishop's men had caused. Marcus shook his head, such a prelate could prove difficult to deal with in days to come. Soon enough they arrived at the cottage and gave it a quick inspection, a process eased since the door had been removed. The fixtures looked to have been carefully removed, rather than burnt or wrenched free of the stonework. Inside, bits of dead foliage and other wind-blown detritus had accumulated in a corner. Standing in the shutterless, doorless house was a little strange for those used to an excessive amount of privacy, for anyone and everyone passing by on the road toward the manor house could see quite clearly through the windows. The gaping windows and door gave the squat grey building a vaguely skull-like appearance. Here and there, the walls and beams bore decoration, of a simple and charming manner, indicating that this building had been something more than just the simple accomodation of a poor batchelor. Inside the cottage, Marcus paused for a moment in thought, muttering quietly to himself. His incantation revealed that the divine aura was weaker here than in the Tavern, and as he had anticpated, there was no magical aura at all. This done, he turned his thoughts back to the structure proper. It was easy to determine where both the road and manor lay in relation to the cottage with a simple glance out the of western and northern windows. The track that lead down from the manor to the inn ran but a short distance away and both of these landmarks were structures which towered over the dwellings of the peasants and serfs. The cottage was two thirds of the way down the track. Near enough that you could clearly see who actually possessed footwear and what condition it was in, but far enough back that the chatter of passersby was not a continuous disturbance. An early start down Watling Street :April 20 1220 The next morning, Marcus and Diarmait set off early. Marcus was a strong walker and Diarmait was well used to long marches, and by getting an early start they expected to be able to make it to the Potter's Field and back by sundown. They proceeded down the road at a fair pace as the sun slowly arc'd across the morning sky. The road they used was not in very good condition; whoever had constructed it had made it to last, but here and there, crude attempts had been made to repair the road - the product of building techniques now lost. The Mynd drifted past them on the right, and the walk was pleasant. They observed folk going about their business upon the road. They gazed upon the village of Little Stretton as it too passed by, until finally they reached the junction where the road headed west toward Bishop's Castle. Around the eleventh hour, they finally arrived at Potter's field. It was a rugged looking field, with many stones poking up through thick tufts of green. The plot was surrounded by a crude stone wall of varying height, matching in style a number of memorials within its confines. Potters Field Here and there, elongated raised mounds marked burials, and in places, attempts had been made to stack stones up into grave markers. The field was clearly not suitable for raising crops upon - especially when compared with the fields on the hills surrounding the field, which ovelooked its stony bounds. Circling about the perimeter of the field, it became apparent that the walled area was oval. Two larger, dark stones formed the enrance to the enclosure, and in the space between them, a crude attempt had been made to close the gap to a narrow 'V' with dry stone, as a style against sheep. Within the graveyard, there were two places where plain obelisks stood, surrounded by circle of smaller rocks which might be there to lend support, or provide a seat for a weary traveller. Arrayed behind the nearest obelisk were a few larger burials, possibly containing families, or persons of stature. It seemed that there were very few carved gravestones, but those that were mostly bore Welsh names. The area had a definite magical aura. This fact alone was surprising, as Marcus now found himself in a cemetary - though a cemetary that lay far from the sight of god. Looking around, the cemetary appeared to be well tended. There were no dead leaves tangled amidst the branches of the bushes, each of which had been trimmed into pleasing organic shapes. The grass had been cut, and the winding paths cared for. No weeds swallowed the mounds, and indeed, even those mounds which seemed oldest were still tended - delineated neatly from the surrounding land. The ground was impressively hard, and full of shards of rock. It would likely take a stubborn man indeed to dig a grave in such place. "Terra non sancta, in veritas," commented Marcus. "Let us see if we can find the space of the child who was recently interred and those obelisks deserve a closer look." The pair set out and made a circuit of the area examing the graves they passed. All of the older graves were grassed over mounds of varying shapes and sizes. A few of the grander ones had stones delineating them, which peeped up through the cut grass. Near to the entrance, on the western side of the field, there were a number of newer graves, with grass claiming the uncovered soil to varying degrees. Amidst these fresh burials there were two which seemed to small to be an adult, even one buried in a foetal position as many appeared to have been. One has a stack of flat rocks stacked at the western end, whilst the other one is unmarked, save for a shaft of wood protruding slightly from the disturbed earth, where it has been snapped off. "One of these would seem to the child," mused Marcus, "but which. And who is the other? Diarmait, make a closer examination if you would." Marcus sat down to catch his breath. "Now, let us examine these obelisks," said Marcus rising to his feet. The obelisks were tall, round, and came to a vague point. As a magus, Marcus had an appreciation for alignments, and ritual arrangements. It seemed to him that the layout of the stones was clearly astronomical in nature. Careful observation of the two great stones revealed that the right hand one was somewhat taller than the latter. Retreating to the entrance, he found a point between the two entrance stones where he could align the tops of the two obelisks, and found that the resulting line of sight lay upon the horizon to the east, where a hill rose up to meet the sun. The stones at eastern end of the field framed the view, two to each side, and probably helped mark the time til the next alignment of sun and stones. "Interesting, I wonder what the date is when next they align ..." said Marcus. The alignment seemed, at a guess to be appropriate for the summer solstice. "Even more interesting, I wonder what happens when they do. Looking East, Marcus could see a moderately sized hill, typical for the area which might have been a notable terrain feature in the south of England, but here it is lost amidst all the others. He was unable to make out anything different about the hill from this distance. "Well, uncle, we have another hour or so before we must return home. Let us break our bread and wander about where our fancy takes us in this place, but first ..." Marcus stepped up to the graves of the children. "Let us pray for the poor bairn." Marcus spoke aloud a short prayer then began to sing a hymn of his own composition, one that didn't sound bad with only a single voice although most of his work needed a choir of monks. "Now, to lunch." As they leisured over their lunch in the sunny field, Marcus's thoughts returned to the way that he had felt as he had prayed and sung for the child. Standing there, before the grave, he had felt a strange, hollow stillness as he prayed, and his spirit had not been uplifted as he raised his voice in praise. It was not sorrow for the child that had quietened his spirit, but instead it seemed to him that this truly was a godless and wretched place. Travelling back, they encountered more than a few souls on the high road. Few seemed to know much about the burials at the field, as they were not carried out with any ceremony, and seemed far more interested in why the monk had visited such a place. Apparently, the bishop's men had been seen burying a number of people in the field over recent years, according to a couple of farmers from nearby fields, but otherwise, most folk merely recommended that they speak to the local clergy. Their return journey was less than arduous, and given the weather, was actually somewhat pleasant. ---- Continued Next page: Magus Congressus. ---- Category:1220 1220Q2 12200419 12200420 Category:Marcus Category:Diarmait